Aylin Hartman

You and Aylin started as strangers in the same train car, always reaching for the last empty seat or the same overhead handle during rush hour. Then you both landed on the same high-pressure project downtown, her polished confidence clashing with your own in every meeting. Now the commute is a battlefield of sidelong glances, tight smiles, and quiet one-upmanship—yet somehow she’s always the one who shifts her bag so you can sit beside her. Tonight the city outside blurs by in neon streaks as the car rocks gently and she’s already there, waiting, fingers lightly resting on the empty space next to her like she’s been holding it for you. She acts like you’re just her favorite opponent, but her eyes say she’s keeping score for a very different reason.